


Justify

by furrylittlebantha



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22645783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furrylittlebantha/pseuds/furrylittlebantha
Summary: Set during the Jedi purges, between Revenge of the Sith and A New Hope.An Imperial Inquisitor who tortures captured Jedi for a living is forced to confront the one victim he never quite destroyed.
Relationships: Original Character & Original Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	Justify

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted several years ago on another site; consolidating here for archival purposes.
> 
> For reference, note that this was written long before the Disney acquisition, way back in the days when the Expanded Universe was canon.

Death is never glorious. There is nothing lofty about a man’s guts spilling onto the ground, nothing poetic in the last gurgling mews his throat makes. No man is a hero when he dies.

Heroes are made later.

Do it right, though, and the shame and ignominy of death will stifle even memory. Do it right, and you’ll never have a martyr on your hands. Darth Vader doesn’t understand. Poor fool. Charging through the galaxy like a crazed rancor, he doesn’t realize that every Jedi he cuts down will become more powerful than he can imagine. They die in their purity when they die at his blade, righteously, full of their damned Force. They die smiling, and go down cleanly. The damage they do after death is far more than they could have accomplished in life—how can you fight a legend, after all?

I’m no fool. I understand as well as anyone that this Empire would not exist without Lord Vader’s efforts, that it sweeps across the systems on the impetus of his lightsaber. But when Lord Vader expends his energies and fades from sight, the Empire will stand without him. It will stand because of people like me. Lord Vader widens our borders, but I deepen them. I plant the roots. I lay the foundation. I destroy democracy from within—because I understand what the Lord Vader does not.

I make no martyrs when I kill.

Jedi trickle in, slowly at first, then faster as their hiding places emerge. One Sith can only take so many at a time, and I am part of the overspill. I watch them enter the compound, perched on the convoys like warriors instead of the scum they are. I study their faces from my window high on the third floor. There is without doubt a quality to them, some indefinable essence that some might call nobility. Devotion, perhaps. And to what? Face after face passes by, and at last I think I have hit on the answer. Justice. The Jedi are devoted to the preservation of justice. That is, I think, what defines a Jedi. Such a creature is highly counter-productive to the Empire’s goals. However, once you pin down what a Jedi _is,_ the problem becomes simpler.

Take the Jedi from the man, and all you are left with is a man. Jedi are immortal.

When men die, it’s forever.

There is only one Jedi who thwarted me in all of my days serving the Empire. Just one. Hundreds have been broken here, but it is the one unbroken soul that haunts my dreams, keeps vigil by my side when I am alone. I am used to him by now. I can meet his tired, kind grey eyes squarely on, and only tremble a little. He never speaks. That still bothers me. He said all there was to be said before he died—I know that. I know he fulfilled his duty and deserves the peace. I even know, dimly, that the real Lorin Makligh is not here, only my dread.

Knowing doesn’t make me hate him any less for the silence.

I turn on him suddenly.

“Let’s remember, shall we? The day I killed you. Just for laughs.” He smiles tranquilly, old grace in the motion. I wonder for the hundredth time how a kid can look so ancient. 

“No objections?” I lean back in my threadbare chair and pop the lid from a bottle of whiskey. “No protests? You’re fine with me reliving the circumstances of your senseless murder? How about a drink, eh kid?” I fumble in my drawers and pull out a cracked shot glass, slop a stream of rusty liquid into it, shove it carelessly toward him. His eyes flicker to the spreading wetness on my papers, then back to me. Calm. Blinking owlishly, lids half closed and relaxed.

I never can rattle him anymore.

“Fine. Be that way.” I take a long swig straight from the bottle. It burns on its way down, lighting a pleasantly warm fire in my belly. “Ah…” I wipe my lips with the back of my hand, prop my feet up on the desk, cross my hands behind my head. May as well be comfortable during this round of masochistic pointlessness. “Padawan Lorin Makligh…born not too long ago, did some stuff during his tragically short life, died at the stroke of midnight on the twelfth day of the fourth cycle, 1 BBY. Left behind a mess of Jedi brothers who shortly followed him in death and one Imperial Inquisitor who has developed a deep and abiding affection for him. Sure you won’t have a drink, Mak? Can I call you Mak?”

He does not smile again, but the corners of his mouth twist suspiciously, and the smooth skin around his eyes wrinkles just slightly. I glare at him and gulp another mouthful of the whiskey. Suddenly, I realize how stale and flat it really is. Cheap junk. With an inarticulate curse, I stalk to the window and spit out the liquid. My breakfast follows. And last night’s dinner.

Someone screams up at me angrily, pointing to the mess and waving their arms. I tell them to go to hell and close the window, straightening my tunic

“Now then,” I say genially. “Where shall we begin? The beginning, you say? I see your logic. But, since I’m feeling contrary, I think I’ll start in the middle. What do you say to that, Mak my old friend?”

He says nothing, of course.

_\---------------------------------------------_

_The whimpering was beginning to annoy me. Yeager planted a boot in his face, but it only made things worse._

_“Get off him, you idiot,” I snapped. “He’ll die if you keep manhandling him.”_

_Yeager looked up, his heavy, ponderous face sagging in confusion._

_“I thought that was the point!” he complained, voice incongruously high-pitched. I sighed sharply._

_“Out, Lieutenant. Just—get out.” He removed his foot from Makligh’s face and shambled out of the cell. I closed my eyes in frustration._

_Faintly, the boy continued to whimper._

_“Shut up,” I commanded. Surprisingly, he did. I opened my eyes to find his mouth working feebly._

_“Wh-wh-wh--”_

_“Because you’re not ready to die yet.”_

But I want to, _his red-rimmed eyes told me plaintively. I smiled cruelly. “Them’s the breaks, Jedi. Yeager!”_

_He poked his head back into the cell. “Yes, sir?”_

_“A medic,” I said, not turning my head. “Bring a medic…and some blankets.”_

_Confusion darkened his bleary eyes, suspicion and wary hope flickering across his face. I patted him on the shoulder gently._

_“Just hang in there, hear? Answer me, buddy.” Force, sometimes I thought the devil himself couldn’t do a better job. Too bad this one was so young. Kinda took the fun out of it._

_The Jedi’s head jerked up and down once, and the hope in his eyes began to win._

_\---------------------------------------------------------------_

_“Eat it. Go on. I know you’re hungry.”_

_He was staring at the steaming plate of stew, eyes intense. When I spoke, they darted to me with a look so full of anguished conflict that I had to chuckle. “Relax, Jedi. You’re not selling your soul or anything.”_

_Those old, old eyes in that young face plainly disagreed, but I held the bowl under his nose, watching as the steam caressed his nostrils. They flared; his face tensed._

_“Eat,” I coaxed again, compassionately. “Look. How will you be able to resist the bad guys if you’re not strong enough? I may be one of them, and yes, I probably have an ulterior motive, but you’re a fool if you willingly cast aside available resources. Besides…doesn’t it smell good?” I waved the dish back and forth slowly. His eyes followed it, wide and alert, but he didn’t move._

_I left._

_When I came back, the bowl was scraped clean, and he was sleeping in the corner._

_\-----------------------------------------------------------------_

_His cheeks had filled in a little, and he looked even younger. Fifteen, maybe, instead of my first guess of eighteen. Pink, roundish cheeks, wispy black hair, lanky limbs that didn’t even show many bruises anymore—he could have been any random kid if it weren’t for his eyes. I’d mixed him up so badly that he could hardly see straight, and it showed in his eyes._

_From my office window, I watched him shuffle around the courtyard. The guards knew better than to mess with him. The weather was nice—not too cold for early winter. He made one more circuit and then leaned up against the stone wall. I waved. He looked up at me, and his hand jumped briefly, uncertainly, hardly even a movement. I stroked my chin speculatively. He was relatively healthy and thoroughly confused._

_Good._

_\----------------------------------------------------------------_

_“Have you ever killed a man?” I asked it abruptly, giving him no warning of a shift in conversation._

_“Yes,” he said, the answer torn out of him in surprise._

_“I thought so. We killers can recognize each other. Tell me about it.” I gestured him on before he can protest the middle part of the sentence. His head dipped awkwardly._

_“I was…I was fourteen,” he whispered. “My second real mission. There was a little girl on the side of the road…looked like my sister. A man came up behind her and grabbed her like he was going to take her away. She tried to scream. He covered her mouth and…and…he…anyways, I got mad. Master Yuin was inside, and it was just me…I ran at him with my lightsaber. I’m surprised the girl didn’t get chopped up. She fainted when she saw his head lying there all messed up. I almost did too. I was still mad, though.”_

_He peered up at me solemnly. “I’ve never told anyone all that before.”_

_Gently, I patted him on the back._

_“It’s okay,” I reassured him. “It’s okay. You can cry if you want to.”_

_After a while, he did._

_\--------------------------------------------------------_

_“Sign there…there…and there. And that’s it.”_

_His wide grey eyes flickered from the stylus in his hand to me. “Why?” he asked._

_“There’s a lot of paperwork when you die, kid. Didn’t you know that?”_

_“I’m going to die?” His voice cracked. It never did that before. Poor little sucker._

_“Sure, Lorin. That’s what the Empire does with criminals.”_

_He did not miss the terminology, despite—or because of—my overly casual tone. “I’m no criminal,” he informed me, crossing his arms defiantly. I allowed my eyes to widen in exaggerated surprise, mouth to form a perfect o._

_“Noooo?” I exclaimed, drawing out the syllable. “Stars alive, we’ve made a terrible mistake. Not a criminal, you say?”_

_The Padawan shook his head firmly._

_“Lorin, Lorin, Lorin…then what is your definition of evil?”_

_“You,” he answered immediately._

_“Ah.” I leaned back in the chair, raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying we’re moral opposites, Lorin? Me, bad, you good? Is that it?”_

_The hesitation before he nodded was almost nonexistent, but I caught it anyways. “Let’s think about this rationally, my friend. Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that we are moral reflections of each other. In what ways is this so?”_

_“I—oh, everything!”_

“Don’t sound so exasperated, kid. How about we start simple. Do you believe in absolute rightness?”

“Of course not.” He sounded more confident now, on surer ground. “Only the Sith deal in absolutes, and truth is often from a point of view.”

_“Okay. So, you’re saying that what is ‘right,’ can mean different things to different people.”  
“Yes…” he was not suspicious yet, but some of the confidence had deflated. _

_“So,” I drove on, “What makes your definition of morality any better or more right than mine?”_

_He blinked. “You’re a murderer.”_

_“Going for the concrete example tactic, are you? Well then, by your own admission so are you.”_

_“I killed that guy because he was evil…”_

_“Evil by whose standards? Yours? By my standards, the Jedi are evil. That justifies me in executing them, just as you were justified in murdering that child molester.”_

_He fumbled for a response, stubbornness in the lines of his face but no way to respond. “You don’t care about people.”_

_“Lorin, I’m hurt! Who made them stop torturing you? Who gave you food, and blankets and medical attention?”_

_“That’s different,” he asserted, thrusting out his jaw. There was a shadow of stubble on it, and I realized he was ready for his first shave. “You were just trying to soften me up.”_

_“So I had a motive. I never said I didn’t. How about you Jedi? You call yourself compassionate beings, but don’t you have a motive, too? Tell me. What was the purpose of that mission you were on?”_

_“We…we were trying to put down a minor rebellion.”_

_“See? Jedi “kindness” was always contingent to subservience to the Republic.”_

_“It was our duty to keep peace.”_

I spread my arms helplessly. “That’s all I’m doing, buddy. Keeping peace. The only difference is that I work for one government, and you worked for another. We’re practically colleagues.”

_“The Jedi don’t torture.”_

_“Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do. Look at it this way; if I had your convenient little mind tricks I wouldn’t be forced to use other means. What would_ you _do without the Force?”_

_“You can’t turn me.” His breath was coming faster now, and I knew I’d almost won._

_“Son.” The tenderness in my voice surprised even me. “I’m not interested in your precious soul. All I want is to show you how miserable it really is. Here.” At the bottom of the stack of papers sitting in front of him is a datapad. I flip it on and slide it towards him. “Take a look.”_

_He looked. As the minutes ticked by, the hands gripping the sides of the datapad began to tremble. His knuckles turned white, then his face. Finally, he flung it across the room as hard, shattering a cheap vase on a stand._

_“You’re a monster,” he choked through an ugly, gulping sob._

_“Recognize them?” I said innocently. “That’s a little surprising; you must have known them well. I did that to them, Jedi. I turned your brothers into those…things. But you knew it all along, didn’t you? You knew very well what I was. And you took my stew anyways. You got a little hungry, you got a little cold, a little scared, and you wet your pants and started sucking up to the bad guy. You actually sort of trusted me, didn’t you.” I let an edge of thoughtful venom drift into my tone. “I may be evil, but at least I’m not a coward and a traitor. And hey, didn’t we decide that evil is subjective? So technically, Lorin…you_ are _a criminal.”_

_I leaned forward, pitched my voice low but piercingly intense. We locked eyes—raw grey meeting my calm stare. “Do you deny it?”_

_He cried harder, and didn’t._

_\-------------------------------------------------------_

_His death was no more glorious than any other man’s. I took a picture of his convulsing body, pocketing the data chip to store with the others. You wouldn’t be able to tell he was a kid from the image, or even precisely human. I’m a very thorough man._

_He stopped twitching. A long, soft sigh moved the length of his chest, quiet and still. It was over. I turned to leave._

_“Wait…”_

_Surprise stiffened my spine. Swiftly, I bent over him, inspecting his cloudy eyes and gaping, bloody mouth. He should have been gone by now._

_“Wait…”_

_“I’m here,” I said irritably. “Forgot the last words, eh?”_

_And to my shock, he smiled. A real smile…a beautiful smile._

_“You’re wrong,” he mumbled. “About…evil. It’s not…the justice that counts. We…we’re…just people. Can’t justify the way things… are.”_

_For the first time in my career, an unpleasant wash of fear worked its way up my throat._

_“That’s right, kid. You can’t justify your sins. You’re evil. We all are.”_

_“No.” The word was barely loud enough to vibrate in my ears, but somehow, it was the loudest sound I’d ever heard. “I’m not like…you…I…do what I do because I c…care about others more than… myself…”_

_“Oh,” I snarled, “So the ends justify the means, is that it?”_

_His smile brightened even further, and a faint glow gathered around his features, illuminating them like something holy._

_“…Not justice that counts…it’s the love…”_

_He sighed again and was gone._

_I examined his still face._

_“Damn you,” I whispered._

_I’d seen it too many times to not recognize it—just never on a dead man._

_Nobility._

\-------------------------------------------------

“So you died smiling,” I conclude. “A kriffing martyr. How do you think that makes me feel, eh?”

He’s gazing at me with that infuriatingly wise expression.

“Oh, shut up,” I growl. “You’re too talkative, that’s your problem. Never give a guy a moment to think.” Pulling my feet down from the desk, I start to mop up the spilled whiskey. Maybe I need to retire. The Empire always has Darth Vader, after all. Maybe it’s time to find a sunny beach on a relatively uninhabited planet except for the girls who serve high-quality whiskey—all free, naturally, for a loyal servant of the Empire…

There is a slight movement in my peripheral vision.

“I know, I know,” I snap. He doesn’t need to remind me.

I’m perfectly aware of the fact that Lorin Makligh will follow me wherever I go, for as long as I live. My personal hero. My custom-made hell. There’s always the other option, of course….

I empty the bottom left-hand drawer, press the spring at the back, feel around in the dust and mold. Ah. There it is.

The little white packet of tablets sits in my hand, waiting patiently for me to take what they promise. It’s a good way to go—Force knows I paid enough. Funny, that a man in my line of work should abhor pain so.

After a moment of contemplation, I slip the package back into its hiding place. It’ll have to keep waiting.

Lorin yawns slightly; he looks bored as a ghost can be. Not that I blame him. This whole thing is a well-worn pattern.

See, the pills seem more tempting ever day.

But I know what I am.

When I die, it’s forever. 


End file.
